“Champagne,” he decided. Rather than red or white wine, the moment definitely called for champagne.
Sébastien widened his eyes. “But England, she is at war with la France. Surely you do not accuse humble French immigrants of smuggling contraband from foreign soil.”
“There’s champagne in your glass,” Désirée pointed out.
“So there is.” Sébastien retrieved a bottle from the sideboard behind him and held the neck out toward Alexander. “Veuve Clicquot? 1811 was a comet vintage. You shan’t be disappointed.”
Cynthia Louise held out her glass as well, which caused the others to do the same.
“To Alexander and Cynthia!” cheered Désirée.
“Er,” said Alexander.
His protest went unheard over the clinking of glasses.
Cynthia’s blue eyes sparkled at him over the top of her champagne.
“Halt the tournament,” she commanded. “Shall we at least teach Alexander the rules?”
“And some illegal shots, just for sport,” Sébastien added.
Désirée nodded sagely. “So he knows whatnotto do.”
The others laughed.
Alexander did not. He had always known what not to do.
Such as abandoning his own party.
Or playing drunken billiards at one o’clock in the afternoon.
Or granting a hoyden like Cynthia Louise Finch leave to abandon all propriety and refer to him as Alexander.
No, propriety had been abandoned long before he walked through the door. Alexander was merely...
Complicating matters.
“Very well,” he said. “Who wants to explain how to make a cannon?”
The next hour and a half passed in a blur of failed shots on Alexander’s part, a series of utterly impossible-to-make shots that everyonebutAlexander was able to achieve on the first try, and the uncorking of a second bottle of champagne.
He’d lost track of the time.
Spending a playful, spontaneous afternoon with Cynthia was fun.
Shewas fun.
And unpredictable.
And terrifying.
She made him want more moments like these.
If he had missed her before when she sneaked away for a few hours, he would now be able to think of nothing else but how much he would rather be wherever she happened to be, doing whatever she wanted.
He tried to memorize every moment, but it was impossible. There were too many, and they kept coming. Teasing banter across the table. The flirtatious look in her eyes when she bent to take a shot—or leaned over to willfully distract him from his.
But like all good things, this too must end.
